


The World Is Changed

by Juul



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Romance, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juul/pseuds/Juul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b> The World Is Changed </b><br/><b>Author:</b><br/>Juul<br/><b>Beta:</b><br/>blue_eyed1987<br/><b>Artist:</b>untldeathtakeme<br/><b>Rated:</b> NC-17 for sexual content<br/><b> Word Count: </b> 14.701<br/><b>Disclaimer:</b> Written for the 2015 Small Fandom Big Bang Challenge. Simon and Baz and the World of Mages belong to Rainbow Rowell, author of the brilliant <i>Carry On</i>. Fortunately, Professor Periwinkle and Belladonna Jet are all mine.<br/><b>Summary:</b> Baz’ Magic accidentally becomes Bonded to the Greatest Git the World of Mages has ever know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is Changed

Some days, it was the only thing that kept Baz tethered to earth. His Magic, flowing through him in waves, coming from some unidentifiable point inside him, a bottomless well, and running through every cell in his body and into the ground below him, colouring everything around him in a warm, yellow light. It was an early morning in September when Baz woke up, and everything looked funny. Not in the “amusing” sense of the word, though. “Unsettling” was more like it. And there was a chill in the air that was decidedly unusual for Watford. Even the grounds were equipped with heating spells these days. 

Baz always woke before his roommate. It was one of the few certainties in his messy train wreck of a life, that he would _always_ get the first shower and be out the door before Snow’d even sat upright. It was one of the ironclad rules that allowed them to adhere to the Roommate’s Anathema and not bash each other’s brains in. Baz stood up too quickly, because he felt dizzy and nauseous as he walked to their bathroom. He tried to remember whether he’d had any unpleasant dreams. The shaky feeling in his bones pointed at something being wrong, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. The shower was warm, at least. He showered a little bit longer than strictly necessary, washing his hair twice and applying conditioner abundantly. If the shower was lukewarm by the time he came out, leaving less of the scalding water for Snow, then that was nothing but a fortunate coincidence.

Breakfast was fine. Dev and Niall were a pair of useless tossers, nothing new there, but the crumpets were delicious and he ate one too many, because during his first lesson of the day, the nausea was still there. He sat down at the desk nearest to the door, at the very back of the class, and sighed gratefully when Donna sank into the seat next to him. He wasn’t equipped to deal with anyone else at the moment, but Donna was fine. She needed very little to keep her happy. 

Belladonna Jet didn’t need much entertaining, because she was one to entertain others, and herself, too. She was a beautiful young witch, with black curly hair that fell down her shoulders, so long that it brushed at her tailbone when she threw her head back to laugh. Her face was gaunt and pale, and she was the only one who never teased Baz about his ghostly complexion, because her cheeks were as white as his. To top it off, her eyes were dark, dark, dark brown, and she always looked you in the eye intently, to emphasise that whatever she was telling you was of tremendous importance.

She was giving Baz that look right now, questioning him about the newest rumours, his choice of necktie, his thoughts on the class they were about to attend. 

“I don’t bloody well know yet, do I? The class hasn’t even started.”

“I know,” she hissed, “but the subject is new. Aren’t you excited?”

Baz didn’t get a chance to answer, because a man had appeared in front of the blackboard. He was tall and his expression was so unbelievably cheerful that Baz couldn’t help but get annoyed with him. It was going to be one of those happy-go-lucky magical hippie types, he just knew it. He couldn’t stand those. The new teacher was wearing a long blue dress (it was probably intended to be some kind of cape thing but it bloody well looked like a dress) and spread his arms out so as to give all the students in front of him a welcoming pat on the back at once. 

“Hello, class.” His voice was high and soft but it carried. Probably Magically enhanced, then. What a waste of precious Magic. Couldn’t the git just speak up a bit?

“My name is Professor Periwinkle,” he went on, “I was asked to come to Watford to fill in for Mrs Marvle, who is on leave. I’m going to teach you Mentalist Magic.”

A few students gave excited murmurs. It was almost as though they hadn’t looked at their class schedules ahead of time, Baz thought. There was a clock on the wall, telling him the class had only been underway for three minutes. Already he wanted to get back to their tower and crawl into bed. Mentalist Magic was fascinating, and he’d been looking forward to this class for months, but he felt utterly exhausted. Tyrranus Basilton Pitch was never ill, though, so there was nothing for it but to just suffer on. In the front row, somebody raised a hand.

“Professor?” came an eager voice. “What exactly is Mentalist Magic?”

Professor Periwinkle smiled at Snow indulgently, as though he had already planned to tell them just that, but didn’t mind being interrupted by the Chosen One. Another hand went up, right next to Snow. Crowley, would this torment never cease?

“Mentalist Magic,” Bunce explained, know-it-all twit that she was, “is magic that involves the mind. It includes mental projection, shielding, telepathy and mental compulsion. It also concerns itself with the ethics of such Magic, as applying it in certain situations is highly illegal.” She rattled the whole speech of like she’d memorised it from a book, which was probably true.

Periwinkle smiled a little wider. “That’s quite right,” he said. “Your name?”

“Penelope Bunce, professor.”

Of course no one needed to ask Snow’s name. Everyone knew the Great Saviour of the World of Mages.

“Very well, Miss Bunce, you are correct. During Mentalist Magic Class we’ll concern ourselves with the basic skills of Mentalist Magic and the casting of mental spells, as well as considering any and all ethical repercussions applying this Magic might have,” he gestured vaguely at the window, “out there.”

Baz sat up a little straighter now, although his limbs were still heavy. It sounded interesting, and useful too. He cast a quick glance at Donna besides him. She was also paying rapt attention.

“Now,” Periwinkle said. _“Say Cheese,”_ and with a flourish of his wand, two small blocks of Cheddar appeared in front of everyone. There was some laughter, and one or two idiots took a bite of their cheese. The professor quickly provided them with new pieces and explained:

“I want all of you to transform the first block of cheese into chocolate using Worded Magic. I recommend using Willy Wonka, but if you feel more comfortable using another spell, be my guest.”

When Baz lifted his head from his desk and looked around, most people had already transfigured the cheese and some were now eating the chocolate they’d created. To the sixth years at Watford, transfiguring a block of cheese wasn’t a challenge. 

Almost mindlessly, Baz aimed his wand and said: _“Willy Wonka.”_

Nothing happened. He tried again.

_“Willy Wonka.”_ Louder this time.

Still nothing

_“Willy Wonka! Life is like a box of chocolates! Cadbury’s Extra Creamy!”_

All of a sudden, Baz figured out why he’d been feeling wretched all morning. His Magic was weaker than he ever remembered it being. It was faded, muted somehow. It wasn’t exactly gone, he just couldn’t access it. The glow of it, reflecting on the world around him, had dimmed.

_“Willy Wonka!”_ He tried one last time. But the shock and frustration and humiliation and the desperate tries at Magic had drained him, and he fainted.

 

****************************************************

When he regained consciousness, Baz was in the Infirmary. That wasn’t the worst thing about his situation, though. Snow was sitting on a chair next to his bed, a little box on his lap.

“Hey,” Snow said carefully.

“Hi,” said Baz. He was still tired, but slightly less so then before. He could imagine feeling rested again at some point in the distant future, now.

“I brought you some chocolates,” Snow mumbled awkwardly. “I spelled the whole classroom full of them after you, err, passed out, and Professor Periwinkle seemed to think I should bring you some.”

Baz snorted a laugh. “You spelled the whole classroom full of chocolates? Crowley, Snow. You’d better have saved me more than one measly box.” 

He snatched the box out of Snow’s hands and said quickly: “I’m really tired.”

Snow obviously couldn’t get out of the Infirmary fast enough. He knocked over a chair in his haste to retreat. Baz laughed at him a bit more but heaved a relieved sigh when the git was gone. Now he could turn his attention to more pressing matters, like:

What the fuck was the matter with his Magic?

_“Warm and fuzzy,”_ he attempted. And yes, the blanket covering his knees definitely grew a little fluffier, a little more comfortable, but he could feel the spell drain him like he’d just run a marathon. An uncomfortable nauseous feeling shot through him, and he settled down on the bed again. What the actual fuck?

The next time he woke, Baz felt significantly more rested. Without waiting for anything so frivolous as a doctor’s permission, he made his way back to the dormitory tower he shared with Snow. The walk wore him out, and he face planted on his bed right away, grateful that Snow was still at dinner.

 

****************************************************

The next morning when Baz entered the dining hall, feeling as good as new, the entire student body was buzzing with gossip. Rather unusually, Baz was out of the loop. A little sheepish, he asked Niall what all the fuss was about. When his friend shrugged, he tried Dev. He didn’t know either, which was no surprise. Neither Niall nor Dev knew a whole lot. Then he spotted Donna making her way towards their table calmly.

“What’s all the fuss about?” he asked her.

“Good morning to you, too, Pitch,” she said drily.

He gave her a withering look.

“I thought you’d have heard already,” she said.

Another withering look, and a sternly raised eyebrow.

“It wasn’t that big a deal, really. Snow just went off in the middle of dinner, is all.”

All in all, that wasn’t very unusual. Simon Snow, the most powerful boy the World of Mages had ever know, frequently lost control of his powers. Baz was just surprised he hadn’t noticed anything. Granted, he’d been sleeping like the dead when Snow came back from dinner, and Snow had still been sleeping this morning when he left, it was just that you could usually feel the waves of Snow’s Magic all over the school grounds. Another person’s Magic wasn’t always an unpleasant feeling, but it was always a little foreign, an alien presence, a blip on the radar. He hadn’t noticed a thing last night or this morning.

“So what happened?” he asked Donna.

She laughed a little. “All of the food and the cutlery flew off the tables and floated around the hall for a while. It was quite a sight. Of course the tosser couldn’t manage to put everything back in its proper place afterwards, so I had to eat my potatoes without cutlery. I think there was some custard on them, too. Dev and Niall thought it was all terribly amusing. The Mage had some baked beans in his hair.”

Baz laughed a little, but mostly to be polite. His mind was still on his own problems. Something was definitely wrong.

 

****************************************************

He had no problems that morning during Elocution. It was, and always had been, his best subject, and he effortlessly recited Shakespeare’s sonnets for an hour. This earned him jealous looks from Bunce, but that was only a bonus.

Once again, during Mentalist Magic, Baz fainted. The assignment was to share a mental projection with his lab partner. He tried to show Donna one of his memories, the golden retriever he’d owned as a kid running around Pitch Manor, but he couldn’t access her mind. That wasn’t so bad, but when he felt the blunt force of her memory pushing at his subconscious, the sensation was so unwelcome that he ended up in a heap on the classroom floor.

“Mr Pitch.” 

Baz woke to the sound of Professor Periwinkle’s voice, a lot more pleasant now that it wasn’t Magically enhanced. 

“Mr Pitch, can you open your eyes?”

Baz did so. He was lying on a comfortable chaise longue in a room he didn’t recognise. Then again, there were lots of rooms at Watford he wasn’t familiar with. A poster of a swirling night sky was on the wall, and the whole room had a welcoming, homey atmosphere.

“Where am I?” He still felt weak and shivery, but his voice worked fine.

“You’re in my private quarters,” said Periwinkle. “I’m more than a little concerned with your health and the power of your Magic. It’s not unusual for students to lose consciousness while practicing Mentalist Magic. What alarms me is that the exercises we engaged in weren’t intended to be particularly taxing. Can I examine your Magic, Mr Pitch?”

Baz felt sick. If something was wrong with his Magic, that was very bad news. He might have to leave Watford. He might be disowned, kicked out of the house. He might have to live as a Normal. Alistair Crowley. 

“Why can’t the Healer do it?” 

“The Healers at Watford are tremendously good at their job, Mr Pitch,” said Periwinkle. “However, I specialise in Mentalist Magic, and I was a witness to both incidents. I assure you that I am qualified to assess your situation.”

Baz nodded.

“Now then,” Periwinkle suddenly looked him over more intently than before. “How does your Magic feel? Please, take a moment to consider.”

Baz closed his eyes, breathed deeply, tried to connect to the well of Magic deep inside him, tried to expand the flow through his whole body, to ground himself in the world around him by exploring it, probing it with his Magic. There was a small burst of soothing, cool Magic that extended from his chest to his fingertips, but it died down alarmingly quickly. He felt faint all over again, tired and overheated and parched.

As if reading his mind, Periwinkle summoned a glass of water. Baz drank it in one greedy gulp. He cleared his throat and admitted:

“It’s weak. It’s definitely still there,” it relieved him to know that that was the truth, “but it’s like it’s being sucked out of me, though not so quickly as to completely empty me.”

Periwinkle nodded, concerned but not surprised.

“Is it correct that you share a dormitory with Simon Snow?”

Baz nodded, confused for a moment, then angry. Of course, whenever anything was wrong at Watford, Snow was involved.

“Yes, professor,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Periwinkle. “I’ll need to examine him, too.”

Baz sat in the room by himself for a while as Periwinkle went to find Snow. He tried more than once to Summon a pen from the desk, which was three feet away, but he couldn’t do much more than make it hover above the desk for a couple of useless seconds. He felt like crying. At last, Periwinkle returned, Snow trailing behind him, an annoyingly concerned expression on his flustered face. He’d probably come running, because his bronze hair was in a disarray. Eager git.

“Come to gloat, have you, Snow?” Baz bit out.

“No.” Snow looked sincere, at least. “I know we hate each other and all that, but if something is wrong with your Magic that’s very serious, Baz.”

Baz rolled his eyes. At least Snow knew that much.

“It might be the Humdrum’s doing,” Snow went on.

“Why would the Humdrum want to fuck with me?”

A stern look from Professor Periwinkle and a muttered “Language, Mr Pitch.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Snow. “Maybe whatever happened to you was meant to happen to me, or maybe he’s just trying out some new way of sucking out Magic.”

“Why aren’t you running to tell your precious Mage yet?”

Simon blushed. “Because you’re the one that something’s wrong with, and I didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than strictly necessary. You hate the Mage.”

Baz didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, Periwinkle decided that had been quite enough chitchat and addressed Snow:

“Mr Snow, how does your Magic feel?” He held up a hand as Snow opened his mouth to reply, and added: “Please, take a moment to consider.”

Snow made a thoughtful expression that was obviously fake then blurted out: “It feels brilliant!”

Of course it did. Of course Snow would benefit from whatever shitty thing was happening to Baz, as if the tosser didn’t have all the luck to begin with. Periwinkle didn’t look pleased, though.

“How do you mean?” he inquired.

“It just feels really, really strong,” explained Snow. “It’s always quite powerful but right now I feel like it’ll never run out. Like I could do any spell I wanted with Magic to spare.”

Periwinkle nodded. “And how long have you felt that way?”

Snow’s brow furrowed, and he looked even dimmer than usual. “Since yesterday morning, I think.”

Shite. That was right about when Baz started feeling like crap. This couldn’t possibly be his life.

Periwinkle turned to him. “Mr Pitch, when did you first feel your Magic begin to fade?”

“Yesterday morning,” Baz mumbled.

There was a long silence.

“Gentlemen,” said Periwinkle in the end, “I believe your Magic may have Bonded.”

Baz had already arrived at that conclusion, but Snow obviously had no idea what the term meant.

“It’s what happens when two people with Magical powers connect through those powers, so that one flows over into the other.” Periwinkle explained when he saw Snow’s confused face. “Right now, Mr Pitch’s Magic has weakened because you’ve been taking it from him, Mr Snow. That’s why you’re feeling invincible.”

“I don’t understand,” said Snow. “How did this happen?”

“I can’t say for certain,” admitted Periwinkle. “Having two people enter into a Bond involuntarily is highly illegal, not to mention extremely difficult and, as you can see, dangerous to all involved.”

“Involuntarily? You mean people sign up for this stuff?”

“Crowley, Snow,” snapped Baz. “It’s a Magical Marriage.”

Snow’s eyes went big. “But I don’t want to be married to you!”

“Trust me,” said Baz, “You’re not my perfect match either. How did we get into this mess?” the question was directed at Periwinkle.

“Well,” the Professor ventured, “Mr Snow, I understand you’ve been the target of attacks in the past?”

“Yes.” Snow sounded miserable. “The Insidious Humdrum is after me. What’s this do to weaken me, though? And what’s it got to do with Baz?”

“That, I’m afraid I don’t know,” Periwinkle admitted. “I’m afraid I will have to tell the Mage about this,” he said to Baz.

Baz sighed. “Is there anything we can do about it?”

“I’m going to look into it right away. In the mean time, Mr Snow, I’m going to need you to keep a lid on your Magic as much as possible, and send its energy to Mr Pitch. Mr Pitch, I need you to try very hard to practice at summoning your Magic, without exhausting yourself, of course. Also, I think the effects of the Bond will be less problematic as long as you keep each other close at all times. Physical proximity or even touch will allow the Magic to transfer between you without wasting any of it, so to speak.”

Baz avoided Snow’s gaze.

“We’re roommates, anyway,” he said. “Should be fine.”

Periwinkle and Snow both nodded, but still Baz felt like this was the worst situation he’d ever been in.

 

****************************************************

At dinner, Baz sat a lot closer to Snow than usual, and he had to admit it did make him feel slightly more energetic. There was still a handful of people between them, and he was glad for that as Donna took a seat opposite him.

“Pitch, you look grumpy like a numpty in winter,” she laughed a little at her own rhyme, “what’s the matter?”

“Don’t freak out on me, okay?” Baz whispered.

She leaned in, features aglow with curiosity, and held out her pinky. He waved it away.

“I’ve actually been Bonded to the greatest git on the planet.”

“SNOW?” she exclaimed.

Baz hissed in annoyance and looked over at where Snow was talking animatedly to Bunce. He hadn’t heard her, thank Merlin.

“Yes,” he said. “Periwinkle diagnosed it, it’s why I’ve been swooning like a Victorian lady whenever I use Magic.”

Her eyes had grown worried. “Is it the Humdrum?”

“Could be,” said Baz. This possibility was alarming, to say the least. “He’s trying to figure it out. In the mean time, my Magic is all buggered and we have no idea how to fix it.”

Donna nodded sympathetically. “Well,” she said cheerfully. “At least he’s your roommate. I know it can really hurt, being too far removed from your Bond partner. Are you okay sitting over here?”

“Yes,” snapped Baz, although he could feel the itchy pull of the Bond. He tried to scoot a few inches to the right, closer to Snow, without Donna noticing, but she caught him and started giggling.

Baz looked down dejectedly at his toad in the hole. This was going to be his crappiest year at Watford yet.

 

****************************************************

After dinner, Baz dragged himself down to the Dungeons to drain some rats. The distance between himself and Snow, who was probably up in their room already, was excruciating. His limbs were heavy like he was moving through thick mud and he couldn’t use his Magic to summon any of the rats, so the process was torturously slow. The blood gave him the usual influx of energy, but by the time he’d dragged himself back to their room, he was drained again. Then, as if his whole life wasn’t horrible enough, he got into an argument with Snow.

“Where the fuck have you been?” the git screamed the moment Baz entered their dormitory.

“Out,” he said. He was tired. He was so tired. And the room was unusually comfortable and warm and his bed looked so cozy and his Magic was strong all of a sudden, so strong under his skin and he felt awesome and sure that the best night’s sleep anyone had ever had in the world was about to be his but then;

“Fuck you!”

“Quiet down, oh Chosen One, I’m worn out.” Baz’ voice was muffled by his pillow.

“Oh, you’re worn out, are you? I’m completely exhausted, Baz!”

“So why yell at me when you could be sleeping?”

“You can’t just disappear like that!”

“Since when do you get to decide what I can and can't do?”

“Since it’s become absolute torture for me having you hang out God knows where, you idiot.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to be away from your ugly mug for three goddamned seconds.” Baz’ voice was cool, but he was slowly unraveling from the knowledge that Snow was right. Their new predicament had made his hunting a hell of a lot more difficult. 

Snow let out his breath in a long swoosh and said, “Come here.”

Baz was pretty sure he’d misheard. 

“I said come here!”

“Bugger off, Snow. I’m going to sleep.”

Another prissy little sigh. What a ridiculous drama queen. Then there was a loud scraping noise.

Baz rolled over and looked right at Simon, who was shoving his bed closer to Baz inch by inch. It was a heavy, wooden thing, but Snow wasn’t easily deterred.

“Oh, no,” said Baz. He tried to make his voice as cold and authoritative as it could be. “Cut that out, Snow.”

Snow didn’t answer, just shoved the beds together and lay down. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Fuck off, Baz. Penelope says the closer we are at night, the farther away from each other we can be during the day. That’s handy, wouldn’t you say?”

He was right. “Where did Bunce get this tidbit of information from, may I ask?”

“She was just here before you came in, she’d been to the library.”

Baz was gobsmacked. “Girls can’t enter our room!”

“Pen can, though.” Snow sounded smug.

“Well, she’s not allowed. I’ll report it.”

“No one’d believe you.” 

That was probably true. Baz turned over again, and ignored the softly spoken: “Night, Baz.”  
   
He was sure all of Simon’s friendliness would disappear the moment their Bond was dissolved.

 

****************************************************

The next day, he had to admit, it wasn’t all that bad. Snow did an uncharacteristically good job of keeping his Magic in check, and as a result Baz was able to participate in all his classes, provided he sat next to Snow. They barely spoke. At dinner, Baz chanced sitting with Donna and filled their meal with endless rants about the Chosen Git.

“He’s so goddamned annoying, Donna, I swear to Merlin.”

“Yes, you said that already.” She was patient with him, more so than usual, but he felt he deserved it.

“He’s a useless Magician. His Elocution is the worst you’ve ever heard, he has no control over anything. He smells weird.”

Donna coughed a little. “He smells weird?”

Baz blushed. He hadn’t meant to tell her that, but it was true. All the time spent on the football field had given Snow the permanent smell of freshly mown grass. It wasn’t half bad, but he wasn’t going to say so.

“Don’t all orphans smell weird?” he joked instead.

Donna gave him a stern look. Having an archenemy was one thing, but cracking jokes at the expense of someone with dead parents was something else.

It was at that moment, Baz later thought, that everything began to spin out of his control. In his mind, he suddenly heard a high pitched voice, talking a mile a minute. It was definitely a girl, and she was saying “If you work at it, you can even communicate telepathically.” 

Something was wrong about the sound of her voice, though. It resonated in his head instead of his eardrums, and he couldn’t locate the source of the sound, like it was coming to him from within. Then the words started making sense. Oh no. Oh sweet Crowley no. He looked up. Simon was looking straight at him, and making his way towards where Baz was sitting with Belladonna, ignoring Bunce’s alarmed questions.

“Orphans smell weird? Fuck you, Pitch,” Snow hissed. That was all of the warning Baz got before he was punched square in the jaw in the middle of supper.

In retrospect, it could have been worse. Baz would probably be feeling a lot shittier right now if Snow’d had an explosion of Magic instead of plain old anger. Granted, his jaw was throbbing pretty harshly, but Snow also seemed to have trouble opening and closing his mouth, and Baz thought he’d probably hurt himself as well, through their newly discovered telepathic connection.

He was in a bed in the Infirmary. His jaw ached as it slowly healed and the skin became pale once more under the steady, sure Magic of a Get well soon! charm. Donna, Dev and Niall were all by the right side of his bed, holding out various types of candy, both Magical and not. On his left was a bed with Snow in it, and next to him Penelope Bunce was talking anxiously. As soon as he felt able to open his mouth, Baz croaked out:

“Shut up, Bunce.”

Donna snickered. Bunce just kept on chattering and Snow sent him a foul look.

“But it’s absolutely fascinating!” She went on. “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. The Magical possibilities a telepathic connection offers are unbelievably diverse and incredibly powerful.”

Now, Snow directed his foul look at her.

“Shut up, Penny,” he muttered. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

That shut her up.

“Why didn’t you warn me about this?” Snow was looking at Baz now.

“How the fuck should I know this would happen, Snow?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the expert on Magical Traditions. I’m just a smelly orphan, remember?”

Baz looked down. “I’m sorry I said that. But I had no fucking idea about this telepathic connection nonsense.”

“I know how it happened,” Bunce spoke softly, as though she was preparing to be shushed again.

“How do you know that, Bunce?” Baz asked her, not unkindly.

“Don’t call me Bunce, _Basilton,_ ” she bit out. “My name’s Penelope. And I’ve been reading up on Magical Bonds.”

“Of course you have.” It was Snow who spoke, and for a terrifying moment Baz thought he’d put the words in his mouth. Snow gave him a look as though he was aware Baz’d been about to say the same thing. Was he reading his mind right this second?

“Wait!” Said Baz. “Snow?”

Snow looked over at him. “Could you please start calling me Simon?”

“No,” said Baz. Some rules were truly sacred. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

Snow shook his head. “I’m trying my best not to. Don’t think so loud.”

Baz concentrated for a moment, and yeah, he could sort of make out the buzz of Snow’s thoughts in the background, although he couldn’t zoom in on anything specific. Just the atmosphere, or something. He could handle that. He looked back over at Bunce.

“So, _Penelope_ ,” he said. “How exactly did this mind-reading thing come to be?”

She hesitated. 

“Well?” Snow prompted her.

“It can be a side effect of the Bond,” she explained. “if the Magicians involved have a very strong mental connection.”

An awkward silence descended over the Infirmary. Eventually, Snow dared to ask:

“What do you mean, a strong mental connection?”

Bunce didn’t need prompting this time, but her voice was mechanical, like she was reciting her explanation from a book. “If your Magic complements each other extraordinarily well, this is what it develops into: a mind link. It’s usually paired with strong reciprocated feelings of affection. But…”

“Hatred works too,” Baz finished for her, curtly. “Is there anything to be done?”

Bunce shook her head. “If Professor Periwinkle discovers a way to dissolve the Bond, any side effects should disappear with it. As long as he doesn’t, I’d say try to keep your thoughts down.”

“Oh well,” said Baz nonchalantly, “it’s not like Snow did a lot of thinking anyway.”

 

****************************************************

The Healer insisted on Baz staying in the Infirmary overnight to make sure his jaw had properly healed, which meant that Snow had to stay with him. The Infirmary was a large hall with big windows. As such, it was a pleasant room to spend time in during the day, but it was flooded with light very early in the morning. When Baz woke, he had crawled onto Snow’s mattress, which was adjacent to his, and had one leg over Snow’s hip. It was a ridiculously comfortable position. For the first time in what seemed like ages, his Magic wasn’t just sufficient, it was abundant, streaming through him in thick beams of light. It was delicious and exhilarating.

Snow was, luckily, still dead to the world. Baz managed to disentangle himself and flipped onto his back. This was food for thought. Having Snow tag along in his mind meant he had to keep all Vampiric thoughts at bay. He didn’t trust the git as far as he could throw him; if Snow found out he was a Vampire, the Mage would be the first he’d tell, and then Baz’d be kicked out of Watford before you could say “Magic”. He couldn’t let that happen. So, what options did that leave him? Hunt while Snow was asleep, perhaps? Though the distance between them might wake Snow up at any moment. He was screwed, no matter how you looked at it. The only good thing was that he’d recently fed on those rats, so he had a few days at least before the matter became pressing.

More importantly, he was becoming dependent on the Chosen Git. The few inches he’d managed to put between them were already sucking out his Magic again, and he crawled just the littlest bit closer. He was close enough to touch Snow now, close enough that he felt his own warm breath in his face when he exhaled because there was nowhere for it to go. Still it was too far away. He needed to use his Magic without this humiliating crutch, for God’s sake.

Then Snow woke up. Baz knew it without looking up, because the static hum of his thoughts was a tangible presence in his brain. It was like a breeze in the face, infused with grains of salt and sand and cold rainwater. Decidedly an unpleasant sensation, but bearable. The kind of discomfort you could learn to ignore with practice.

“Come here, you daft git,” murmured Snow sleepily.

Baz made a sputtering noise of protest. Snow yanked him closer by putting an arm around his middle, and immediately Baz felt calmer, like he’d actually gotten a decent night’s sleep.

“Blimey,” Snow went on, “you don’t even use my first name in your head.”

“Stop reading my mind!”

“I can’t help it. You’re very… shouty.”

“I am not shouty!” Baz shouted.

Snow rubbed an arm down his spine soothingly. Baz settled back into the mattress and gave a frustrated sigh.

“Do you need to hunt?”

For a moment, Baz was sure he’d misheard. It was early, and yesterday had been busy and confusing.

“Wah?” came his eloquent response.

“If you need to hunt, you have to tell me.”

“Hunt _what_ , exactly?”

Simon snorted. “Hunt whatever it is you hunt to get your Vampiric kicks.”

“What in Crowley’s name are you talking about?”

“I know, Baz.”

“You don’t know shit, Snow.”

“Call me Simon, goddamn it! I _know_ you’re a Vampire. You can’t lie to me about it, I can read your mind, remember.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything remotely Vampire related just now.”

“So you don’t deny it, then?”

“I do! I deny it on principle!”

“Well, I think you should tell the truth, you know, on principle.”

Baz blanched.

“I already knew you were a Vampire,” Snow said gently. “I figured it out years ago. And just now when I mentioned it I could tell from your brain it was true. I’m not telling, though. Don’t worry.”

Baz focussed on where Simon’s mind was softly leaning against his own. There was no trace of deceit there, he was telling the truth. He wasn’t going to tell. Or, at the very least, he didn’t intend to right this second.

“Why on Earth wouldn’t you tell?”

“You’d get expelled.”

“And you’d love every minute of it!”

Simon looked over at him like he was daft.

“I wouldn’t be able to stay here, if you got expelled.”

Baz was speechless. He hadn’t thought of it that way yet.

“No,” he protested. “They wouldn’t expel me because the Mage wouldn’t want to have his Golden Boy leave Watford.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Are you willing to put that theory to the test?”

Baz really wasn’t.

 

****************************************************

Over the course of the following week, it got easier, as things are wont to do. They settled into a new rhythm, one that was acceptable to both of them, although, in Baz’ humble opinion, far from ideal. It was easy getting their timetables to coincide completely. Simon got out of bed fifteen minutes earlier, and Baz fifteen minutes later, so they could walk to breakfast together. They alternated spending afternoons in the library (on Baz’s insistence), and the football pitch, where Baz would inevitably bring a book along. At mealtimes, they could sit far enough away from each other to talk to their friends privately, and those were, unsurprisingly, the best parts of Baz’ days.

“How’s it going?” Belladonna asked him at dinner about a week after they were released from the Infirmary.

“Alright, I guess,” Baz had to admit. “The weekend was problematic but in the end we did what I wanted on Saturday and what he wanted on Sunday.”

Donna raised her eyebrows. “So what’d you do on Sunday?”

“Football practice, so I did some reading. Then we had a fucking walk around the school grounds with Bunce.” 

This made Donna laugh and Baz said drily, “Glad my misery amuses you, milady.”

Still laughing, she said “So, how was it?”

“She’s a terrible know-it-all, but at least she’s read some books. Snow’s literally never read anything above nursery level except for the required reading.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Only you would care what books people have read. Are they interesting?”

“How do you mean?”

“Do they have exciting social lives, parties, eccentric family members, exotic tales from holidays to faraway places?”

Baz chuckled. “Nope. Nothing like that. But I’d take someone who knows their Shakespeare over that stuff any day.”

 

****************************************************

That evening, as they were getting into their pajamas, Simon said sourly, “I do have an exciting social life, you know.”

Baz looked at him. The presence of his mind was subdued. Tired, perhaps. Or, Merlin forbid, Baz had hurt his feelings…

“Okay,” said Baz. He was tired himself, and not up for the debate.

“I dated Agatha for almost three years.”

Baz knew that.

“Did you sleep with her?”

There was a silence.

“You didn’t sleep with her. Why’d you break up?”

“I wasn’t in love with her anymore. The whole thing was terrible.”

Baz didn’t prompt him.

“We were the Golden Trio, you know? Penny, Agatha and me. Penelope was torn for a while after I broke up with Agatha. I think she was disappointed in me, too.”

“That’s utter poppycock.” Immediately Baz wished he hadn’t spoken.

Simon looked at him, surprised and amused. “What is?”

“It makes absolutely no sense that she’d be disappointed in you for ending a relationship you weren’t happy with.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You just told me it was.”

A long silence.

“Either way, I _do_ have a social life. And you’re one to talk, Pitch.”

“I have a social life,” Baz said. All thoughts of sleep were forgotten now that his social skills were being questioned.

“You have that pair of complete wankers, what are they called, Neil and Dave?”

“Niall and Dev,” Baz corrected. “And I’m friends with Donna.”

“Who?”

“Belladonna Jet.”

Recognition flashed in Simon’s eyes. “She seems alright.”

“She is, as you say, alright.”

“But you’ve never dated anyone at Watford.”

“Neither has your precious Penelope Bunce, I don’t see you needling her about it.”

“Come on Baz, I’m just curious.”

“Sod off.”  
   
Baz turned over in his bed and faced away from Simon, making an exaggerated snoring noise. Simon got the hint and rolled over to face the wall. As soon as Baz felt sure that Simon had drifted off, he allowed his thoughts to wander for a moment. The Bond made it nearly impossible to keep secrets from his roommates, unless those secrets were small things that were almost never on his mind. It was just his luck that two of the things that dominated his thoughts most of the time, his status as a Dark Creature and his sexual orientation, were the two biggest secrets he had. So Simon had figured out one of them, and it hadn’t been an utter disaster. Maybe coming out of the closet wouldn’t be the end of the world, either. But would he be able to bear it if Simon decided to use it against him?

 

****************************************************

Unfortunately, Simon didn’t leave Baz alone for very long. The next day at breakfast, he violated their unspoken agreement and sank down next to Baz on the bench at the breakfast table. Donna looked incredulously at Baz, then Simon, then Baz again, who shrugged.

“What do you want, Simon?” 

“It’s _Simon_ now, is it?” Donna observed.

“Are we okay?” Simon ignored her.

Baz looked over at him, confused. “I hate your guts. What else is new?”

“Yeah, but, are we okay?”

Baz understood suddenly. Simon was concerned he’d gone too far the night before, asking about his personal life. 

“Yeah, we’re okay. Bunce looks awfully lonely over there.”

Simon took the hint and left Baz to his crumpets.

“What was that about?” Donna asked him.

“Not sure, to tell you the truth,” admitted Baz. “He asked me whether I was single last night.”

This made Donna giggle. “What’d you tell him?”

“Nothing.”

Donna was the only one at Watford, actually the only one in the world, who knew that Baz was gay. In their third year, when he was brimming with confusion and hormones, she’d given him his first kiss. There had been a mutual understanding that this was more for Baz to figure himself out than out of any enjoyment, and the soft press of Belladonna’s lips had made everything crystal clear; he was as gay as they come. But he figured to his father being gay when one was already a Vampire was a bit much, and to everyone else he just didn’t feel like sharing.

“Okay,” said Donna now. Her tone suggested that there were also lots of things she wasn’t saying.

“What?”

“I said, okay.” Again with the cryptic undertone.

“Belladonna, spill.”

“I think you’re into him.”

“I am not.”

She looked at him sternly. “Please, Baz, can you take a moment to consider I might be right before writing me off as a nutcase?”

No, Baz couldn’t, really. Why on earth would he be interested in a self-centred egomaniac like Simon Snow? Except Simon really wasn’t like that. In the Infirmary, when Simon’d promised not to tell anyone about the Vampirism, and two nights ago, when he accompanied Baz to the dungeons and tactfully averted his eyes as Baz drained a bunch of rats, it had seemed almost as though Simon… cared. Baz dismissed the thought quickly. Of course Simon cared. It was clear as anything that Simon cared about Watford, and it was easy to see why; he was an orphan. From what Baz could gather, his life outside of the World of Mages had been absolutely miserable. Of course he’d be willing to sacrifice the lives of some miserable rats and the occasional woodland creature if the alternative was losing everything he’d come to love about Watford. Baz didn’t even enter into that equation. 

As Baz thought it over and the silence dragged on, Donna gave him a meaningful look. “Whenever you’re ready to admit it, you know where to find me.”

Her intense eyes looked so certain, so amused at his obliviousness, that doubt started gnawing at Baz. How exactly did he feel about Simon? He thought it over during Mentalist Magic, when Professor Periwinkle made him and Simon do research so as not to mess with their mental state any more, and they pored over a book together, Simon so close that Baz could smell Earl Grey on his breath. He thought it over during Elocution, when Simon was an absolute disaster, tripping over his words and jumbling them together and not getting a single godforsaken spell right all class, until by the end of it he was flustered and embarrassed and looking at the floor. Normally having Simon fail at anything would give Baz nothing but joy, but as it was the embarrassed awkwardness rolled off of him in waves and into Baz, so that he, too, felt unsettled and insecure for the duration of the class.

Luckily, it was a library afternoon. Baz, in his fragile, confused state, was in no way equipped to deal with the onslaught on his senses that was Simon on the football pitch: the muscles flexing in his calfs, the bronze locks of hair falling into his eyes and the distracted hand gesture to keep them under control, the sweat that gathered in a thin sheen over his skin. The library was better, the library was safe. The library was sitting still and quiet and on opposite sides of a table and not looking at one another even if the person across from you had the most gorgeous eyes. Shit. Donna was right.  
   
Donna was abso-fucking-lutely right about every single thing, as she always was. It was why he’d befriended her in the first place, because he appreciated her tendency not to beat around the bush. So, he was attracted to Snow. It wasn’t a novel sensation, precisely. Baz had been attracted to people before. Come to think of it, he’d always been attracted to boys with dirty blond hair, boys built for football and clumsiness. He probed Simon’s mind for a moment, assured himself that the git was completely absorbed in a a text on what spells could be derived from pop lyrics. He allowed himself to ponder the situation for a moment. It was paramount that Snow wouldn’t find out about his newly discovered _feelings,_ if one could call them that. They weren’t emotions, exactly. It was just shallow attraction.

And, Baz thought, that was perfectly natural. He was a sixteen year old boy attracted to boys, and he was suddenly forced into close proximity to one that wasn’t exactly bad looking. This was simply the way things go, when you’re a teenaged. Now, the only thing left to worry about was that Simon would find out. He was feeling relatively reassured. He continued reading up on different types of Bonding spells, different ways for Magic to become entwined, when Simon looked up from his book and said,

“What’s the matter, Baz?”

“Nothing,” said Baz. He focussed intently on the text in front of him, letting it fill his mind as much as he could.

“Bollocks. You’re lying. I can tell, remember?”

Baz did remember. “I’m reading, Snow. Mind keeping your gob shut?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind,” said Simon. “I can’t concentrate with whatever’s got your panties in a bunch.”

The librarian gave them a stern look.

“Crowley, Snow, nothing’s the matter. Leave me alone.”

“Call me Simon!”

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. Can I get back to reading this now, _please?_ ”

Another stern look from the librarian. Baz turned back to his book and ignored Simon, who was trying to get his attention by asking him more questions, but very quietly now. As if the hissing whispers were any less disruptive than the actual conversation they’d been having. Baz ignored him.

Denial was a good policy, for a while. At dinner, he admitted to Donna that she was right, but begged her to change the subject out of fear that Simon would read his mind at the worst possible time. All through dinner he was distracted, trying to decipher Simon’s thought. As far as he could tell, he was mostly listening to a story Bunce was telling him about her older brother. Donna noticed his absentmindedness but didn’t call him out on it, bless her heart.

 

****************************************************

It was this exact moment that Baz had been dreading. He was clad only in boxers, the heating charm on their room exceptionally strong tonight, and he was lying in bed, facing towards Simon, trying to make out the contours of his face. In the pitch dark, he couldn’t see whether Simon was looking at him, too, although the shivery feeling on his skin, like he was being watched, did suggest it.

Simon drew a deep breath. Here it came.

“I’m bisexual.”

Okay, so that was not what Baz had been expecting him to say. He was quiet.

“I just mean, if it’s something like that, you can tell me.”

“Why do you even care, Snow?” He bit out.

“You’re the first person I’ve told that.”

That was a surprise. “Not even Bunce?”

“No, although I’m starting to think she’s figured it out.”

Baz snorted. Of course the brainiac would figure it out.

This posed a new dilemma. Simon wasn’t asking him who he was attracted to, specifically. He was just asking after their gender. Was it safe to share that information? There were lots of boys at Watford. There were even more in the world. And it would be so nice to tell him. Not _him,_ specifically, but someone. Someone who wasn’t always asking him who had the best arse. Donna was always asking that, and keeping lists of the boys they thought of. Simon definitely had the best arse but Baz never mentioned him.

A deep breath. Then: “I’m gay, Simon.”

Softly, “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m gay _and_ a Vampire and none of this bothers you in the slightest?”

“Well,” a pause. “I can see why it’s difficult for you, of course. But neither of these things surprise me. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well, have you told anyone else?”

Baz hesitated again. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to have a heart-to heart with Simon. He was absolutely going mad with the desire to get to know him better, to figure out what caused his almost permanent arrogant scowl and what broke through that expression to make him smile tentatively. On the other hand, his gut told him this was a bad idea, that his father wouldn’t like him making friends with the Chosen One, that perhaps, he was playing right into the Humdrum’s hand by developing a soft spot for Simon.  
   
Was that what this plan was about? Was he supposed to become Simon’s weakness, so the Humdrum could use him for leverage? Was Simon supposed to develop into a lovey-dovey boyfriend type? The thought made him lightheaded. But no, that was exactly what the Humdrum wanted him to feel. His infatuation with Simon could go no further.

“I’ve just told Belladonna,” he whispered.

“Not your parents? I mean, your dad?”

They did not speak of his mother. No one spoke to him of his mother, not ever.

He shook his head, then, when no response came, he whispered, “No.”

“And when did you figure it out?”

_When you were wearing your grey sweater last Christmas. When I was watching football practice. The one time you were in the shower and I walked in to brush my teeth. Last night, when you were wanking in the shower and I could feel your arousal scorch my brain. The moment I first laid eyes on you in first year._

“Dunno. A while ago, I guess.”

The answer was vague enough for Simon not to ask anymore. Baz was grateful that Simon was leaving his mind alone. The room was dark and quiet and stuffy.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When did you figure it out?”

Simon thought for a moment. “First, I was in love with Agatha.”

Baz rolled his eyes, careful that Simon couldn’t see. You’d have to be blind, deaf and absolutely stupid not to have noticed how head over heels in love Simon had been with Agatha. A few years back, at least.

“She’s an amazing friend, you know. She’s pretty and smart and funny and Penny loves her. She’s… _Magical._ ”

They were all Magical at Watford, but Baz didn’t say so.

“But then I started noticing boys, I guess. And she noticed that I noticed. I never once used the word bi with her but she knew, and it was all fine. We were together for so long that it was only natural we’d look at other people sometimes.”

He hesitated. Baz waited.

“After a while, though, I was looking all the time. I wanted to know what it would be like, you know, with a boy.”

Baz knew all too well.

“That’s when I realised I wasn’t in love with Agatha anymore. It wasn’t a surprise to her, I don’t think, but it still hurt. I think we hurt Penny the most, and I hate myself for that.”

“So did you find out?”

“Huh?”

“You know, what it would be like with a boy?”

“No,” said Simon softly. “I felt guilty. I felt like shit. And I feel like I should tell Penelope, first, before she finds out from someone else.”

“You don’t owe her anything,” Baz pointed out.

But that wasn’t exactly true, and they both knew it. That’s just how friendship works.

Baz startled a little when he felt a thin hand gently touch his waist, the long fingers curling around him. It was good, though. His whole body flooded with an influx of warm, sparkling Magic, and he felt peaceful. 

“Thank you,” he sighed, before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” said Simon.

Baz waited.

“I’m so fucking sorry you got dragged along into this whole Humdrum drama with me, Baz. You never asked for any of this.”

“Neither did you,” Baz pointed out.

“But I get the good end of the bargain. My Magic’s never been this strong before, and it’s been pretty strong.”

That was true. “It’s okay,” said Baz. He was turning into a terrible softy. No one could ever know. “Don’t tell anyone I’m being nice to you,” he added.

That made Simon laugh.

“I won’t,” Simon promised. They fell asleep, Simon still holding on to Baz a little.

 

****************************************************

When Baz woke up, Penelope Bunce was in his room. This was surprising for a number of reasons. Firstly, no girls should be able to enter the boys’ dormitory. Secondly, this meant Simon had awoken before Baz had, which never happened. Now Simon was sitting upright in bed, his eyes still a little confused, his hair an unruly mess. He was so incredibly close, too. Their shins were almost touching. The room smelled nice and comfortable. It smelled like their Magic, he realised. Thirdly, nobody should have to listen to Bunce’s excited screeching at this hour of the day.

“I’ve figured it out,” she was telling Simon in a fake whisper.

“You can speak normally, Penny, he’s woken up,” Simon said calmly.

Baz cursed their fucking Bond, cursed Simon for blowing his cover. He grunted and sat upright, making sure to settle in a little bit closer to Simon than strictly necessary, so he could soak up his body heat.

“I’ve figured it out!” She was looking at Baz now, as though she was expecting him to piece whatever she’d figured out together just from the frantic look in her eyes.

“What?”

“I know what’s the matter with you.”

He hated her more than ever. He hated her for the knowing, gleeful glint in her eyes, for her endless superiority complex and for not getting straight to the point.

“For Christ’s sake, Bunce, it’s the ass crack of dawn. Get to the point.”

Simon gave him a stern look but didn’t say anything. Baz could feel that he agreed with the statement.

“Listen,” she said, as if they weren’t both paying rapt attention already. “There is no way to force a Magical Bond without mutual consent, right?”

Baz nodded, but Simon looked confused. 

“If there isn’t, then what the fuck is the matter with us?”

He hadn’t grown up around Magic, of course. 

Baz explained, “It’s marriage, Simon. You can’t marry anyone without saying ‘I do’ and all that jazz.”

“But I didn’t say that!”

“Exactly,” Penelope cut in. “Which means your Magic got tied together some other way. A way that looks very similar to a Marriage Bond, but actually isn’t.”

She picked up a book from Simon’s bed. Baz hadn’t even noticed it before, but now he leaned slightly further into Simon’s side in an attempt to read the title. She was too fast, though, already flipping it open.

“In rare cases, two people can become Magically Bonded,” she read out, “as a failsafe. When one’s Magic starts to weaken or fade, for any reason, it often latches on to the Magic of another nearby Magician, in order to sustain itself. Such connections are forged without the consent or knowledge of those involved, and can quickly become very powerful.”

That made no sense at all.

“Why would my Magic weaken or fade?” Baz asked. This was more worrisome than anything else in his life, ever.

“I don’t think it has,” Penelope assured him gently. “I think it’s probably Simon.”

No one spoke for a while.

“Think about it,” she went on softly. “The Humdrum has been trying to weaken him for as long as he’s been in the Magical world. Maybe it’s working.”

“So,” Simon asked, “how do we fix it?”

“That’s the problem,” Penelope admitted. “I have no idea.”

 

****************************************************

It was very little use, knowing what the problem was if they still had no clue how to fix it. Professor Periwinkle agreed that all the evidence pointed towards Penelope’s theory. Baz couldn’t help but feel grateful she’d figured it out, even if she was a bit stuck up. Also, he felt a guilty kind of relief because she believed that his Magic was not the weakened one. At the same time, he could feel Simon’s worry and sadness and guilt like it was his own, and it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation.

They skipped Simon’s football practice that afternoon in favour of the library, hoping to find a new angle now that they had all this new information.

“It’s called an involuntary emergency Bond,” Baz pointed out. They were sitting next to each other at a wooden desk meant for one person, and Baz’ legs were warm where they brushed Simon’s. Simon was reading along over his shoulder, but in a vague, I-can’t-focus-if-my-life-depended-on-it sort of way. Baz decided not to torture him any further and sat and read silently.

He read about different types of involuntary emergency Bonds, and how they came to be out of the Magic’s own free will, the subconscious part of the Magic that its master couldn’t control. He read about different things that can weaken Magic: afflictions to the vocal chords, terminal illness, depression or other types of physical or psychological strain. Simon agreed that none of those were applicable to him, at least not any more so than usual.

It was the twenty-first book he consulted that yielded some real results. Simon had fallen asleep with his head on their desk, and Baz was sitting on the floor in front of a shelf near him. 

“Theoretically,” the passage read, “it is possible to infuse someone with Magic by performing a number of spells during the mother’s pregnancy, even if this person has no genetic predisposition for such powers. However, it is highly unlikely that the foreign Magic would remain within such a person for as long as they lived. The Magic would probably be highly erratic and uncontrollable, and then peter out as the Magician reached adulthood. Such genetic experimentation, though hypothetically possible, is deemed highly dangerous and immoral and is, for that reason, illegal in most Magical societies.”

Aleister Crowley. Merlin and Morgana. Quickly, Baz put together everything he knew about Simon Snow. The boy was an orphan, abandoned by his biological parents at birth. His Magic was the most powerful the World of Mages had ever seen, and on top of that it was very unpredictable. It was prophesied that Simon Snow would save the World of Mages one day, although the specifics of this event were unclear. Could this be the reason for Simon’s volatile Magic? Was it slowly burning up? Had it latched onto Baz for its last hurrah? And if so, how would they ever disentangle the whole mess without getting Simon killed?

Baz looked up at Simon, asleep on the uncomfortable wooden chair. His head had fallen forward onto the desk, and the column of his neck was long and smooth and the skin looked almost translucent in the candlelight. Baz could see the blue veins thrumming below. He wanted to kiss Simon, right there, and feel the pulse with his lips, just to reassure himself that Simon was okay, for the moment at least. He wanted to suck on the white skin and pull the blood closer to the surface, creating a crimson hickey so that anyone who saw them would know that Simon was _his_. He wanted to sink his teeth into the soft flesh and suck out the blood, gently, carefully, without spilling a drop. Simon’s smell was so strong that he could almost taste him. Taste his blood? His skin? Everything was a confusing mess.

“Simon?” he said, softly. “Simon? I think we should go to bed.”

They went. Baz kept his hand on the small of Simon’s back, because the Chosen One, the Golden Boy, the Great Simon Snow, looked so tired that he was about to topple over. His exhaustion rubbed off on Baz a little, who had to concentrate to get them both safely up to the tower. When they got there, Simon crashed straight into the bed, and Baz helped him take his shoes off before joining him there. He didn’t say anything when Simon pulled him close. He didn’t protest when Simon pushed and pulled at him until they were spooning, and Simon was the little spoon. He just smiled the slightest bit. And he worried, because an average Watford day shouldn’t tire Simon out this much, and Baz himself was feeling a lot healthier. Who would have thought that Baz would ever consider feeling well a bad thing?

****************************************************  
   
Baz woke first, the next morning, and for a moment all was as it should be. He was holding Simon close, and he had an erection, but what teenage boy doesn’t have an erection in the morning? He tilted his hips carefully away so as to avoid any awkwardness and soaked in the comfort of Simon’s wiry body next to his. Was this wrong? Was he being a pervert? Was getting aroused by someone’s sleeping body in your arms a bad thing to do, if you didn’t have the person’s express permission to get aroused? That was ridiculous. Tyrannus Basilton Pitch didn’t need permission from anyone to behave the way he did, and certainly not for getting a boner when he was cuddled up with an attractive boy. Time went by in a confusing way, Baz alternately ignoring the tight knot of excitement in his stomach and feeding it with thoughts of kissing and groping and the smell of Simon’s hair. After a few, blissful, confusing minutes, he sat up.

He gasped, then, at what he saw. Simon was pale as a ghost, paler than Baz himself, even. He was also much too still, and now that Baz was paying a little more attention, he noticed that Simon’s breathing was laboured, quick but heavy, as though he wasn’t getting enough air.

“Simon?” he shook gently at his shoulder. “Simon, love, wake up.”

The endearment just slipped out, but luckily Simon was too groggy to notice. He groaned something unintelligible and rolled over to press his face into the pillow. Then, he let out another muffled, pitiful groan.”

“I don’t feel well,” he said.

Baz snorted. “You don’t say?”

Simon gave him the you’re-an-arse look, and Baz returned the favour.

“Simon?”

“Uh.”

“Can you do some Magic for me?”

Simon looked at him like he was utterly daft, and muttered “ _Warm and fuzzy._ ”

His blanket did not become any more warm or fuzzy.

“ _Warm and fuzzy._ ” He tried again. Nothing happened.

Then, sitting up, “ _Willy Wonka._ ” No chocolate appeared.

“ _WILLY WONKA._ ”

Nothing. He was even paler now, and shivering a little. 

“Shhh,” Baz put an arm around his shoulder. “Shhh. Don’t wear yourself out.”

Simon looked over at him unhappily.

“Can you go get Penelope?”

“Of course.” Simon sounded like he was about to cry, and Baz couldn’t very well say no to that, but he was a little jealous that Simon wanted Bunce to comfort him and not him. Still, this gave him a chance to grab the book from last night.

“I’ll be quick about it.”

Baz couldn’t get into the girls’ dormitories, so he levitated a bunch of pebbles to pelt at what he hoped was her window, until her bushy head of hair came out and she yelled, “What the actual fuck?”

“It’s Simon,” Baz said. “He needs you to come.”

She was downstairs faster than Baz had thought possible, and they walked back to the tower. 

“What’s the matter with him?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It’s like his Magic is weakening.”

“Bugger,” she said.

When they got there, Simon hadn’t moved from his foetal position on the bed. Penelope rushed towards him, brushed the bronze hair out of his face and tugged gently at his shoulder. With considerable effort, Simon opened his eyes.

“Simon?” her voice was relieved when he met her eyes. “Simon, what’s the matter?”

“Magic’s gone,” his words were slurred, like articulating them properly was too much of a hassle.

“Oh no,” Penelope said. “Oh no.”

She looked over at Baz. “When did you first notice?”

“Just now,” he assured her. “I came to get you immediately.”

“Baz,” Simon croaked out. “Come here.”

Obediently, Baz sank down on the bed and put an arm around Simon. He concentrated on where his Magic was, a hot fiery ball of worry and affection pressing against his ribs, and focussed on transferring it to Simon. It seemed to work, because he sat up a little straighter and sighed in relief. Penelope gave him an odd look. He raised his eyebrows. What kind of selfish asshole did she take him for?

“I found some new information when I was in the library last night,” he volunteered.

This grabbed their interest. Penelope was obviously interested in any and all things scientific, as well as Simon’s wellbeing, and Simon hadn’t heard Baz’ new information yet, because he’d been so exhausted the night before.

“Simon,” Baz said, “what do you know about your parents?”

Simon looked confused for a moment, then said, “Not much. They left me at an orphanage when I was a baby.” Everybody already knew this. 

“They can’t have been Magical,” Penelope offered. “Magic is too precious a gift to abandon.”

Baz was surprised that she had already reached the same conclusion. “But then,” he asked her, “where did his Magic come from?”

They were talking like Simon wasn’t in the room, Baz running his fingers through Simon’s hair in a comforting gesture, but paying attention mostly to Penelope.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I do,” said Baz. “I read something last night about infusing Magic in a baby when it hasn’t been born yet.”

They gaped at him.

“It’s very dangerous and illegal, but it is theoretically possible.” He pulled out the book and let Penelope read the passage he’d found last night.

“This could be it,” she whispered. “So how do we fix it, then?”

Simon was only half paying attention, tired and clammy and clinging onto Baz with both hands now. Nobody said anything, but the answer hung heavily in the air: they still had no idea.

 

****************************************************

It was a Saturday, so there were no teachers or classes to worry about. Penelope went down to the library and gathered all the books she deemed relevant. She also brought enough food to sustain them for most of the day, and forced Simon to eat a whole cherry scone. Baz was starting to like her.

Still keeping close to Simon, stroking his back or his forehead in soothing motions, Baz started to skim the books. The sun moved over them in the sky, and his stomach was grumbling, and he wished he had a cup of hot tea, but none of it mattered. There were no answers to be found.

They discussed softly whether or not it would be wise to go find a teacher or a Healer. Professor Periwinkle was already doing all he could, Miss Possibelf couldn’t possibly know more about Mentalist Magic than he did. The Mage, Baz said, was not to be trusted, and the Healer obviously didn’t know what to make of the whole thing. The strain of getting Simon downstairs seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

“Penelope.”

They were both surprised to hear Simon’s voice. They’d assumed he’d been fast asleep for hours now, his eyes closed and his body unmoving.

“Yes, Simon?” she spoke softly, reverently, the way you spoke to the dying. The thought made Baz sick.

“Can you leave us alone for a minute?”

The hesitation was so clear on her face that it was almost comical. “Simon,” she began.

“No,” he sat up now, his voice stronger. “What could happen that’s worse than what’s already happened?”

He had a point. Penelope sighed and left them.

Baz was itching with curiosity for what he was about to hear. He hadn’t been able to make out much of what was going on in Simon’s head over the past hours. There was just a dull, numb buzzing, like he was trying to think through a thick fog. Baz had tried to keep his mind off of it, for fear of being affected and unable to come up with a solution that way. But Simon didn’t speak.

“What is it?” Baz asked. He tightened the arm that was resting around Simon’s waist and pulled him a bit further upright to lean back against the pillows, also to lean closer to him in what he hoped wasn’t an obvious move.

“Nothing important, really,” but his tone suggested that it was, in fact, important. “Just that, in case this whole thing kills me-”

It was like he’d emptied a bucket of ice water over Baz’ head. 

“You won’t die.” he said sternly. “You won’t. Look at me, Simon,” Simon did, but his eyes were dim. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

Simon chuckled. “Either way. I thought you should know I’m in love with you.”

Baz was entirely certain he’d misheard. He blinked harshly a few times, but he remained in the exact same situation. He was sitting in their dormitory, on their beds, pushed together, holding Simon, who was shaking. 

“Excuse me?”

Simon didn’t look at him, so Baz wasn’t sure the whole thing wasn’t a practical joke. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Baz was more confused then ever. “I heard you the first time. How ill are you exactly, Snow?”

“Don’t call me Snow. My name is Simon and I’m in love with you, you absolute tosser, wanker and git!”

“Now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?” Baz said cheekily.

“Boyfriend?” Simon repeated faintly.

“If you want.”

Simon nodded. “I want.”

“Good,” said Baz. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”

There wasn’t immediately any kissing, like Baz had imagined. He felt it would be a bit forward to demand a snog right this second, while Simon was very possibly _dying_. God damn him.

“So now you can’t die,” Baz said.

This made Simon laugh a little. “How do you figure?”

“I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. I can’t have my first boyfriend dying on me.”

“Wait a minute,” said Simon. “I’m your first boyfriend?”

Baz blushed a little. And then he blushed a little more, because all of a sudden he was being snogged by the Chosen One. It was nice. Simon was still clammy with sweat but the sweat felt somehow clean and safe and reassuring, like perfection didn’t exist and if it did they didn’t want it anyway. It was a gentle press of lips at first, because it was Simon initiating it and he was obviously insecure about the move. But Baz hadn’t ever kissed anyone before (although he would die before admitting it), and he was a sixteen year old boy with feeling god damn it and he already had his arms around Simon and it was so easy, so unbelievably easy, to flip himself over so that he was on Simon’s lap, and he tugged at the bronze wisps of hair until Simon tilted his head up a little so they could kiss a little deeper, use a little tongue, and it was heart-achingly mind-numbingly brilliant. Simon’s long, pale neck was right there, and all of a sudden Baz was leaning down to kiss it, and he was leaving the hickey he’d imagined putting there last night. Simon went crazy for it, making a soft sound that was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing ever heard by anyone, closing his eyes and tilting his head away so as to expose more of his neck. Slender hands were clutching at his shoulders, running down his back, pulling at his hips.

“Oh, fuck,” muttered Simon, and pulled Baz’ mouth back on his.

Baz smiled broadly into the kiss and whispered: “How long have you been crushing on me, Simon Snow?”

He was pleased to see that some colour had returned to Simon’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure whether this was because of their proximity or the heated nature of their activities.

“Forever,” came the reply, and for a heart-stopping moment Baz thought it was all a cruel joke. It was too good to be true, it was all way too perfect to really happen to Basilton Pitch. But Simon looked genuine enough. A little anxious, even, and Baz realised he was expected to reply.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn't know. I’m sorry I was an oblivious git and I loved you, I loved you all along and you infuriated me and I just had no idea what I was feeling half the time.”

Simon nodded into the crook of his neck.

“It was exactly like that,” he said. “Agatha knew it, too. That’s why she hates you.”

Baz laughed loudly at that. He couldn’t care less that Agatha Wellbelove hated him, but this new information made him happy. Like he’d won. 

They weren’t kissing anymore, just breathing in each other’s air. Simon had his eyes closed, a contented look on his face, and Baz took the opportunity to study his features in detail. The well-defined angles of his cheekbones and his jaw, the sloped shape of his nose, his eyebrows and the unnaturally gorgeous eyelashes. The single lock of hair that fell onto his forehead and bounced there because it was slightly curled. He never wanted to move again.

Something came to him, a phrase he’d learned in an elocution lesson. “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history,” he said. Simon looked up at him in wonder and then they were kissing again. It was just as wonderful, if not better. It was warm and slow and careful and…

A rough sound came from the direction of the door, like somebody clearing their throat. It was Penelope. She was smiling.

“Glad you two idiots figured that out,” she said.

“Wait,” said Simon, sitting up a little straighter to look at her past Baz, his cheeks still adorably flushed. “You knew?”

This made her laugh out loud. “Simon, honey, everybody knows.”

Now all three of them were laughing.

“Nice to know people mind their own business in this school,” Baz muttered. Then they all three realised at the same time that, despite the elation that had taken hold of the boys’ hearts, there was still a big problem. Simon was still weakening.

Baz couldn’t get himself to move away from Simon. Instead, he turned around to face Penelope, settling down between the V of Simon’s legs, leaning his head against his bony shoulder and sighing contentedly as Simon started fiddling with his hair.

Penelope gave them an amused look but didn’t comment. 

Baz wasn’t paying attention to her. The gears in his mind were turning at top speed. He figured it out in a single split-second of clarity, the way, he mused, most geniuses made their discoveries.

“Guys,” he said. “I think I know what to do.”

They looked at him expectantly.

“What is making Simon so weak?” he asked.

Penelope answered, “his Magic is leaking out of him, and the involuntary emergency Bond isn’t enough to sustain it.”

Baz grinned as though this was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear.

“But when the Bond was strong, he didn’t have any trouble, right?”

Penelope’s eyes grew big when she understood. “ _Baz_ ,” she said. “We couldn’t ask you to…”

“What?” Simon interrupted. “What are the two of you on about? I’m not following.”

Baz turned around to look Simon in the eye and explained: “If you and I enter willingly in a Marriage Bond, it will be much stronger and more reliable than our current connection. Combining our Magic would probably be enough to sustain us both.”

Simon shook his head.

“Simon,” Penelope began, but Baz shut her up with a look.

“What if it isn’t though, Baz? What if it’s not enough, and you’re sacrificing your Magic for nothing?”

“Shut up, Snow,” Baz said. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I’d be binding our souls for all eternity.”

“Exactly,” Simon pointed out. “That sounds like your worst nightmare.”

Baz snorted. “Weren’t you listening just now? I love you, you idiot! You should be the one complaining. I’m warning you, I’m an absolute tosser.”

This made Simon laugh a little. “I know you’re a tosser, Pitch. But I love you, anyway.”

“Just so you know,” Baz added, “there’s no Magical divorces. If we try to dissolve the Bond or do anything to intentionally compromise it, we could die or lose our Magic.”

Simon shrugged quickly and kissed Baz again. Merlin, that was a good feeling.

They’d both forgotten that Penelope was in the room with them, but when they looked over at her she was hastily dabbing at her eyes.

“Penny,” asked Simon, “can you perform the spell?”

She nodded. She lifted her ring and started waving her hand around. When she spoke, her voice was clear and almost businesslike. She had a look of intense concentration on her face.

_“Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, take Simon Snow to be your husband, to bind your souls and connect your hearts and your Magic for all eternity?”_

Baz took a deep breath. _“I do.”_

Simon smiled broadly at him.

_“And do you,”_ Penelope went on, _“Simon Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Pitch to be your husband, to bind your souls and connect your hearts and your Magic for all eternity?”_

_“I do,”_ said Simon, and Baz thought he’d never heard something quite so beautiful before.

Penelope’s words were floating above her head in neat red script. The “I do’s” were floating above the boy’s heads, both a brilliant periwinkle blue. With a swift wave of the hand that held her ring, Penelope let the word in the air around them fly towards each other until they read _“In the name of Magic, you are now Married,”_ in elegant purple handwriting.

_“In the name of Magic, you are now Married,”_ Penelope said.

_“In the name of Magic, we are now Married,”_ Baz and Simon repeated.

Colour had returned to Simon’s cheeks, and he reached over for another cherry scone. Baz gave him a broad smile and kissed him, stealing a soggy bit of scone in the process. Penelope made a retching noise but her wide grin betrayed her.

_“Warm and fuzzy,”_ Simon cast when Baz pulled away, and a warm, thick comforter covered the both of them. Penelope left the room quietly.

All was well in the World of Mages. Well, almost all. The only thing was that with the revival of his Magic, certain other powerful urges had also returned to Simon Snow. Would his name be Snow-Pitch, from now on? By rights, it should be Pitch-Snow, that was alphabetical order, after all.

Either way, Simon was blushing all over, and it wasn’t just because of the thick comforter. He was still sitting on the bed in a cross-legged position, facing towards Baz. When he removed the comforter, the bulge of his erection became obviously visible through his pajama pants. Baz felt hot all over, his skin buzzing with the need to _own_. It was what the Bond demanded of them, and he could feel his own desire rubbing off on Simon and being reflected back at him in an endlessly strengthening loop. It was almost too much, and for a few torturous seconds they were both too heavy with want to move at all.

Then, Simon let out a long, whooshing breath, and Baz felt some of the tension loosen around them.

“Baz,” Simon’s voice was low and a little dangerous, and then Baz had a lapful of Chosen One all of a sudden, and having the flushed skin against his own was intoxicating and overwhelming and he thought _yes, yes, Simon, Gods, let me fuck you._

Simon made a choked noise and mumbled, his head buried in the crook of Baz’ neck: “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, let’s do it.”

Then Baz realised. Simon could now read his mind. This was brilliant. This was amazing. He closed his eyes and tilted his neck so that Simon could continue to lick and bite at it. At the same time, he tightened his grip on Simon’s hips so their cocks brushed together through the thin fabric of their pants. With tremendous effort, he focussed his mind on projecting all of the dirty fantasies he had accumulated over the years.

_Getting down on his knees on the cold stone floor and yanking open Simon’s pants to suck his cock. Having him fall apart under his hands, under his mouth, having him go completely mental with pleasure and pull at his hair to keep the noises in, then pulling his mouth off and saying roughly: “Come on, Simon, moan for me. I want to hear your noises, sweetheart.”_

Apparently the projection had entered Simon’s brain because he was now rubbing his cock against Baz’ more firmly and also letting some gorgeous moaning noises escape from the back of his throat. Baz pushed him off and spread him out on the bed with a firm grip, pulled down his pants and looked at Simon’s cock.

It was a cock, like he’d seen them before, but it was hard and big and the curly coarse hair at the base was the same colour as the lock falling into Simon’s eyes and it looked absolutely gorgeous. 

When Baz put his mouth around the tip and flicked it with his tongue experimentally, Simon made a desperate noise and his thighs trembled in a half-failed attempted to keep his hips from thrusting upwards. Baz had the stray thought that it was a lot like sucking off yourself, because if he concentrated he could tell exactly how his mouth felt to Simon. It was incredible and soft and wet and he desperately wanted it harder, but at the same time there was something vulnerable, something beautiful about the gentle press of lips, about the carefulness of it all.

“Please, Baz,” Simon whispered.

Baz hummed a little and thought clearly _Please what, oh Chosen One?_ Good to know he could be teasing even if he was only communicating telepathically. 

Simon made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and frustration, and Baz saw himself, all of a sudden: sucking Simon down much more forcefully, his head bobbing up and down and his lips suctioning tight around the shaft. That was what Simon was begging for. It was a dizzyingly arousing image, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Simon’s vulnerability just yet. With a long swipe of his tongue against the sensitive underside, he pulled off. 

“You’re beautiful.” His voice was rough as he said it, and he smiled a little when he saw Simon hide his face in his hands, embarrassed. “You’re beautiful when I’ve got you spread out like this for me.” It was a surprise to Baz how much pleasure came from giving pleasure, although perhaps the Mentalist aspects of their Bond had something to do with that.

“You’re gorgeous, Simon. You taste so good, sweetheart.” He couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was turning into a big sap. “You’re wonderful. I love you.”

Simon could only moan but Baz felt the love and adoration seep into his brain through a thick curtain of desperate arousal. At last, he took pity. He opened his mouth wide and took in Simon’s cock as far as it would go. That wasn’t very far, as it turned out, and the sheer size of it made him gag a little, but Baz Pitch wasn’t so easily deterred. He tried again, and again and again, licking and sucking each time he pulled upwards and relaxing his throat when he sank down, holding the part of the shaft that couldn’t fit into his mouth in a firm grip.

When Simon came, it was glorious. Baz had felt the pleasure build, had paid special attention to repeat the moves that seemed to be getting a particularly enthusiastic response, and had enjoyed the whole thing way more than he’d expected. Along with Simon’s pleasure, a whole new type of pleasure had started to build in Baz’ gut, one that was at once more subdued and more enveloping than the kind of orgasms he was used to achieving on his own. It was only the echo of Simon’s orgasm, but it was made all the more satisfying by the knowledge that he had been the one to bring it about, that Simon was all his now, and he was all Simon’s.

When the orgasm ended and Simon finally seemed to relax, Baz licked at his lips and looked up to take in the Saviour of the World of Mages, more fucked-out and satisfied than Baz had ever seen him.

“Oh,” said Simon. “Oh, _Gods_ , Baz, I had no idea it would be like that.”

“Like what?” Baz asked with a cocky wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Like…’ but no words came, just a deep satisfied sigh. Then, incredulously: “Did you come?”

Baz nodded as he crawled up the bed and snuggled up to Simon, who was all sweaty and warm and delicious. 

“That’s just one of the many benefits of Bonding, honeybun.”

Simon rolled his eyes but the wide grin on his face betrayed his amusement. Baz closed his eyes and was flooded with a thought from Simon, an image of the two of them fucking on the bed, Baz sliding himself into Simon’s ass, and Simon moaning and writhing on the mattress. He suppressed the urge to start snogging again and make the fantasy a reality _right this fucking second._

“We can work up to that, I think,” he said to Simon. 

Simon looked at him with big eyes and answered: “Well, can we work up to it quickly?”

Baz was speechless for a moment and hid his face in Simon’s chest.

“I love you, you great silly git.” Simon added. He probably thought Baz had fallen asleep, because he said it softly, like it was a secret, but Baz soaked in every syllable and pulled Simon just a little bit closer.

****************************************************

_“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.”_ is a quote from Oscar Wilde’s _The Picture of Dorian Gray._


End file.
